I had a roommate who, after a visit back home, brought her bird 3/4 of the way cross-country to live in our apartment. We were both in school and I moved in with the belief there wouldn’t be pets. She vaguely suggested the bird could go to her boyfriend’s place if it became a problem.
I should put right out there that I neither understand nor condone the whole bird-in-cage thing, and certainly not alone in a small cage. What kind of life is that for a social, flying animal? The roommate herself, despite having made a big life change in moving to a strange city for grad school, was both immature and self-involved. Not horrible – I’ve certainly had worse – but not overly attuned to my concerns. Guess who spent more time with that ratty bird?
He passed his useless days screeching and repeating “Chico pretty bird” over and over. Oh, had I not mentioned he talked? But of course he talked! Evidently my roommate had taught him very few phrases and he really took to the insipid, preening one.
When I was in the apartment, i.e., not attending classes or going to a part-time job, I was often studying. Trying to anyway. To amuse myself and keep my mind from completely slipping off the rails, I’d answer him with commentary like “Chico is an okay bird. Let’s not get carried away.” Lest you think I was remiss in not teaching him a few more interesting phrases, know that whatever learning days this slow-witted bird had, they were long over. Although I felt a little sorry for it, it was an easy bird to dislike. He just didn’t have any redeeming qualities I could see.
Eventually the bird did get taken to the boyfriend’s place but not without pouting on the part of my roommate. Whatever it took. So long as the bird was gone. I’m sure it’s long dead, but it lives on in memory as I can still hear that incessant refrain, “Chico pretty bird. Chico pretty bird. Chico pretty Bird. Chico pr…………..”